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| Chronicles of the Cake Stop |
| Vol VI No. 4 |
Soundtrack:
Gorillaz - Laika Come Home |
Fatbloke comes charging out of the showers yelling about lack of hot water. He is resoundingly ignored
by nearly everyone. Miiinee is talking about the delights of being the father of a young cyclist and there
is a book open on how much petrol prices are going to go up with the latest hike from OPEC. Everyone
is looking forward to a time of quiet roads and frustrated drivers when they can ride around feeling
smug. The lovely and heroic Mrs Pike thinks that it might not be enough, however, to prevent her
extraordinarily lazy neighbour driving to the post box to post her letters. There has been a gradual loss
of membership from the much-valued Dystechnics Anonymous, with the latest brain to drain being
Pedaldog, now much chuffed with his new handlebars. Terry has almost managed to raise a thousand
good English pounds for the Guide Dogs for the Blind Association.
Redrum has been looking for some shorter shorts to extend her tan. It's a minor distraction from the
discussion about the flour bombing of the PM - a discussion almost political enough to be consigned to
the Campaign shed. It is relatively quiet in the Cake Stop today, as EvilChuffy hasn't been around for a
while. There is very little flirting going on, and, apart from a brief but snappy disagreement between
Ravenbait and Yenrod, there is not much happening in the way of excitement. Andy Newbie's question
about the standard greeting between cyclists has failed to rouse much interest, although Benlawrence is
celebrating his first topple in clipless pedals. There isn't even any conversation related to food today.
The closest thing to a food topic has been Mrs Pike's rise to fame with Foska, who produce the coveted
marmite jersey.
The tiny thrill produced by the possibility of having an interloper, in the guise of Steely Eyed Missile
Man, whose identity Clare has spent some time trying to verify, is over. It wasn't much of a security
scare. The war on terror doesn't really impact on these hallowed walls. Everyone here has much more
important things to think about, such as on which side to overtake a line of stationary traffic.
Somersetbiker has been celebrating his birthday, however, which was nice for everyone.
It is a sultry, warm, heavy day, when the pollen-laden air seems thick like syrup and even the wind is
warm, so that any ride is like pedalling into a giant hairdryer. It is the season of skin sticky with sweat,
catching flies like a carnivorous plant; of cut grass from verges littering the roads; of high-flying
swallows twittering lyrically; of taking two bottles of water for the ride home.
It is, as Ravenbait would say with an enormous grin, Pinarello weather, and everyone is fairly upbeat,
especially those like Nutty, Kitzy and Ukiboy who don't like driving and go out of their way to avoid it.
This is perfect weather for sailing past those stuck in their cages, and enjoying the fresh air and
sunshine.
Of them all, only Newbie is not looking so chipper. He is sitting at the bar nursing a pint, wondering
whom he can ask to accompany him on what he considers to be an entirely too dangerous and
fooolhardy endeavour. TimC is offering moral support but has already declined to accompany him. He
claims to be allergic to danger, but does offer some cursing. Newbie thinks despondently that the worst
curse he could muster is probably a used moist wipe.
"Cheer up, old boy!" grins FatBloke, rubbing his damp hair with a towel. "Could be worse. He might
have lopped your head off there and then!"
"Would you come with me, FatBloke?" Newbie asks hopefully.
"Well, let me see. No longer wanted by the Marine Mammals Defence Fund, and Rigby seems to be
doing just fine by himself these days. Can't be any worse than being turned into a zombie, can it?"
"Oh, thank you," Newbie says, feeling utterly relieved for the first time in days. The quick pootle
around the grounds of the house where Amanda Donohoe used to keep her strap-on dildo had not
reassured him at all.
Newbie buys Fatbloke a pint and they sit for a while in companionable contemplation. There will be
time enough for some combat training. Macleach has offered schooling in the use of the offensive
chainset, and Flying Monkey and Aeroflash may well have a few hours free to go over some of the
basic points of the Weirding Way later.
"Look!" Ravenbait exclaims from the far side of the bar. She has just come in from blasting past a
fellow commuter on her Pinarello and is somewhat over-excited. "The tadpoles are growing legs at
last!"
The High Priestess of the Temple is bending over a large fish tank, filled with greenish-looking water
and a couple of rocks. Inside there are small, black commas of proto-frogs wiggling about merrily, and
some rather large ones that have an appearance more like giant evil sperm. Their blank, froggy faces
gape mindlessly back into the faces of those who peer through the glass. Sure enough, some of the
bigger ones are starting to show the first signs of tiny feet, just where their tails meet their round
bodies. TooMuchCake peers at them apprehensively.
"You know, some of them are rather on the large side," he says. "I don't know about you, but I've never
seen a tadpole with a head the same size as a bar end plug. I have to say, some of them are downright
creepy."
"Nonsense!" scoffs Ravenbait. "They're cute and froggy and lovely."
One of the larger tadpoles favours TooMuchCake with what he considers to be a baleful stare. It seems
to say "Your name is marked, my son."
"Kathy, have you been conducting experiments on Ravenbait's tadpoles?"
"No!" Mrs Pike responds, a little too quickly. Her face flushes somewhat pink. "I did find some in a jar
outside, though. It looked like they had been taken from a pond and then the rotter who kidnapped
them from Mr and Mrs Frog just abandoned them in the road. I couldn't just leave them there! I thought
they might enjoy the company of Ravenbait's tadpoles."
"Well they seem to be getting on together just fine," Ravenbait declares with evident satisfaction,
sprinkling some goldfish food into the water. A couple of the ordinary tadpoles nibble at one of the
softened flakes left over from the previous day's feeding. One of the large tadpoles hoovers up an entire
sprinkling of the fresh stuff without stopping to chew.
"'Tis not normal!" Cuddy Duck observes. "In my professional opinion, as an experienced aquatic fowl,
those are no ordinary tadpoles."
"I don't care!" Ravenbait says crossly, pouting and folding her arms in a stubborn manner. "They're
mine now. I've been feeding them. I'm going to train them to be ninja attack tadpoles! Especially that
one." She pulls a smug face. "His name is Boris."
Flying Monkey shakes his head sadly. He is thinking that the Priestess has had too much sugary coffee
today and he'd better tell Clare not to let her have any more. She'll only regret it later if she does.
"Oi!" AndyGates exclaims. "That was my idea!"
"Yeah, but they're my tadpoles," Ravenbait responds. "I'm going to train them to come to heel, and then
I'll have ninja attack frogs when they grow up."
Brock leans over and nudges Macleach. "Does she have these funny turns very often?"
"Too much sugar, too much caffeine, too much sun, too much Pinarello," Macleach tells him. "We all
have our little foibles. Best not to argue with her, really. She'll probably go have a snooze out back
soon and she'll be fine when she wakes up."
"Either that or she'll have an entire flock of superbly trained ninja attack tadpoles," Redshift notes. "I
think she took the loss of 'One Man and His Frog' rather hard."
"What?!" exclaims Rigby. "Did someone say 'rather hard'? Can I be of any assistance? I'm quite good
at rather hard things!"
With that the conversation in the Cake Stop returns to its usual smutty self. Newbie actually finds
himself feeling quite comforted. It all seems so normal. It is easy for him to forget that in barely two
and a half months he has an appointment with Lance on the beach at Dunwich, even when some of the
conversations are focused on travel arrangements.
In the tank, five of the large tadpoles congregate in a small group by the glass and stare out at
TooMuchCake, who is chatting to Nutty, as if memorising his face. They stay there for a long time,
gaze fixed, until eventually their attention seems to register on some instinct of their target and he jerks
round to look in their direction.
But the group has dispersed and is busy doing tadpole things.
TooMuchCake shakes himself and tells himself to stop being silly. No cause to go around being
nervous of tadpoles. They are only little black blobs with tails. They don't even have legs yet. Tadpoles
are perfectly harmless.
Cuddy Duck sidles up to him and nods towards the tank. "'Tis not normal, I tell you," he says.
They watch for a while, but the tadpoles are apparently just very large tadpoles. Probably some sort of
exotic species.
Perfectly harmless.
Nothing to worry about.
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